Imgaine
by The.Deranged.Arts.Student
Summary: What would happen if you meet a certain someone down the street? Knowing my luck something like this!


What if you happened to meet a certain someone while down the street? What would happen? Knowing my luck, something like this! :P Enjoy!

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It's raining. The street is wet and you pull your coat tighter around you. Puddles swell on the footpath and you hop over them, sometimes you catch your foot in the edge. Water splashes up your legs, but it's fine. You don't mind the rain much. For once the winter rain isn't sleet. It runs down the gutters, gushing into the drains.

The next puddle is massive, right out the front of a little café. You can smell the coffee in the rain and the heat radiates from the glass doors. Most people are staying inside to wait for the rain to pass. There's not much you can do but place one foot in the middle of the puddle and jump over.

The café door jingles open and suddenly there's a flutter of umbrella fabric. It startles you and you slip on the wet path. It's definitely wet now. You've landed in the middle of the puddle which is deeper than you first anticipated. The water is seeping through your waterproof coat. It's cold in the puddle.

The umbrella swears. It lowers and the owner of its voice appears. You recognise him instantly. His bright eyes are almost grey in this light and his cheekbones are red with embarrassment. It takes you a couple of awed seconds to realise he's holding his hand out to you. Then you remember the puddle and the awkward wet patch forming on your arse. "I'm so sorry," his voice is deep and sincere, "I'm so clumsy." You highly doubt that. You say it was your fault, that you should have been watching where you were walking. Attempting to dry your hands on your soaked pants you accept his hand, his grip is firms and he practically yanks you up. Brushing yourself down you adjust your beanie. You are certain you must look terrible but he's smiling at you. Maybe your makeup is running, black streaks down your cheeks. That would be just great.

You return his smile despite the nervous twitch in your stomach, you want to seem normal, unlike all the others he's met. You decide it would be better not to mention his name or fame. It would be better to let him mention it if he wants to. Give him that power.  
"You're saturated and you must be freezing. Let me buy you a drink," it's not really a suggestion but an offer of an apology. You accept, but only to save his dignity, it must have been awkward for him too, to literally bowl someone over. You realise that you are cold. The water has soaked through to your skin.

He doesn't walk back into the little café but shields you with the umbrella and leads you down the street. As you walk he asks you about yourself. There's not really much to say, you reply, knowing his life must be far more exciting. But he wants to hear about you, your family and friends, your pets and university. You tell him these things, then once you feel you've given enough you ask him what he does. He says he's not that exciting. You've probably never even heard of him. He works in television and film. He introduces himself as Ben. That he's a bit of a conman really, he pretends to be other people for money. Sure he enjoys it, but sometimes it can be too much. Your heart sinks a little when you realise he's telling you this, probably because you'll never see each other again. Or maybe he feels he owes you for landing you in a puddle with a wet arse?

He gestures to a lit café down the street. It's glistening in the lamplight. You walk inside. It's warm and smells of spices mingling with coffee. It smells like an exotic country. He shakes the umbrella at the door and puts it in a holder, then he offers to take your coat. Sheepishly you hand over the drippy coat. It's old, from your favourite second-hand shop. It seems to droop when he hangs it on the stand. His own jacket joins yours. It isn't as wet and it looks only a year or two old.

The owner knows him and gives him an over-enthusiastic embrace. Like most Italian men, he beams from ear to ear as Ben recounts the Unfortunate Tale of the Puddle and the Umbrella. The Italian's chubby fingers pinch one of your cheeks. It stings a little afterwards and you're sure there will be a red welt there. He seats you in a corner booth. As you slide in you remember your wet pants and uncomfortably shift around. The owner takes your orders and then leaves in a flurry of rapid Italian.

Ben smiles at you across the table. You smile back. There's a silence that stretches across the seconds. You aren't sure whether it's awkward or not. Maybe he enjoys the silence? Maybe he appreciates that you aren't gushing with questions and giggling like a little girl? Secretly you're a little proud of yourself. He asks you whether you like to read. You say yes and begin to tell him about the latest book you've finished. He hasn't read it but he seems interested. His gaze is constant and intense as he watches you explain the plot. Your hands wave wildly around as you describe the characters. You notice he's smiling. It's more of a cheeky smirk.  
You stop.  
_What? _  
He must realise you've noticed and he glances away momentarily. He says he appreciates your honesty and enthusiasm. Reading is good. In fact it's great. _Everyone should read_, he declares boldly.

The coffees arrive. The café owner places your drink in front of you with a rosy grin. You smile politely back. Ben nods. You sit and talk about all different things. The world. Events. History. Politics. Surely you would think of exhausting conversation but it doesn't dry up. The coffee is drained and another ordered. Time passes by and it's not until your phone buzzes in your pocket that you realise how long you've been talking. It's your housemate. She wants to know where you are.

You glance at your phone and swear, suddenly remembering the landlord's meeting. Ben looks worried and asks if you're alright. You say you are but you have to go. There's almost a wounded look on his face when you stand up suddenly. But you hit your knee on the table and bite your lip to stop yourself from yelling in the café. It's going to bruise.

Ben calls for the bill and despite your protests, pays it in full. Even the tips, leaving you with your wallet half open and your mouth open in a pout. He laughs at you. You realise you must look ridiculous. By this time your hair would have started to dry and spring out in all directions, you're holding a soggy wallet full of receipts for bookstores and your coat has undoubtedly made a puddle in the front hallway. Your mouth slowly closes and your cheeks blush red.

He helps you put on your soggy coat and you pull your tangled hair over the lapels. You step outside, this time he looks before he opens the umbrella. It's still raining and the contrast between the warm café and the cold street makes you shiver. He looks down at you and apologises again for the puddle incident. You shake it off. More embarrassed than offended.

A taxi pulls over and he opens the door for you. The taxi driver grunts as you slide in. Your wet pants squeak on the leather. Ben smirks as you close your eyes in embarrassment. When you feel it's safe you open them again, only to be struck by his own twinkling eyes. Slightly dazed, you thank him for the coffee. He apologises, again, and just before he closes the door, presses some more money into your hand. You sit back. He insists you take it, for the taxi ride. The taxi driver grunts again. He's getting impatient. You take the money and Ben closes the taxi door.

As it eases shut he winks at you and your heart almost stops. The door clicks shut and the taxi driver pulls away sharply. You fall back against the seat and sigh. What a dreamy afternoon. You pull out your phone to text your housemate. You keep replaying every moment in your mind. How he looked, how he smiled, the tone of his voice.

Something in the reflection of your phone catches your eye. You gasp. The colour drains from your face and you glance down at your chest. You'd completely forgotten. The words, _I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes_, are emblazoned on your jumper. Horror grips your heart and you spin around to see if he's still on the corner. But he's gone, just another umbrella in the drizzling grey of London.

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We've all thought it, come on :) It was of course, our favourite Benny C :P

Thanks for reading!


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